


i'll keep coming

by bleakmidwinter



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Gender/Sexuality, Alien Sex, Anal Sex, Cardassian, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Vorta - Freeform, Weyoun resident Cumdump, even if weyoun is into it, like the founders sex traffick the vorta dubious lmfao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:14:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28619376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleakmidwinter/pseuds/bleakmidwinter
Summary: When the Founder Woman finds Damar's performance to be slacking, she orders Weyoun to relieve his stress.
Relationships: Damar/Weyoun (Star Trek), Damar/Weyoun 7 (Star Trek)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	i'll keep coming

**Author's Note:**

> the title is a low roar song, but works sexually AND non-sexually

Damar wonders when the promotion to Legate became a hindrance, rather than a reward for his valiant efforts composed in favor of the Cardassian Empire. 

Here, droning on and on, day in and day out onboard Weyoun 7’s attack ship as if thousands of his people haven’t been brutally murdered by men and women behind the lines. Not even by the eager hand of the Federation, but their very own Dominion alliance. It’s maddening.

Families are dying. Children. This war isn’t getting any less bloody. 

Perhaps he’s guilty because the reason he’s most down is because he hasn’t been laid in a while. Damar hasn’t gotten laid in a  _ long  _ time. Months at this point. 

Cardassians are spread thin throughout the ship as it is, and dozens of Cardassian colonies close by have all but been obliterated. He misses the touch of a woman, hell, he misses the tease of skin he’d see in the saunas on his homeworld.

There isn’t a sauna on this ship, there’s barely a sonic shower. 

But, there is kanar. And lots of it. 

The combination of his stress via no physical contact and an abundance of Cardassian alcohol leaves him at a disadvantage on the bridge, especially under the insipidly watchful eye of the Female Changeling, or the critical speciation of the Vorta. 

Weyoun 7. The bane of his existence in this war. 

He doesn’t know if he wants to snap his neck or choke him out. Either one would work. The man is small; it would be quick and very,  _ very  _ painful. 

For now, his disadvantage finally makes itself known when he mutters to himself, “Haven’t had the touch of a woman in three goddamn months,” nearly under his breath, but not under it enough it seems as Weyoun’s head swerves at the uttering. 

Well, damn. 

“Due for another glass of kanar?” Weyoun chides, priggish grin stretching up in the same way his ears stretch, tall and stiff. 

“If you’re offering,” Damar grouses, knowing full well he won’t retrieve another from him. Weyoun maintains a lucrative and immaculate order on this ship. He barely tolerates Damar’s alcohol habits as it stands, let alone during work hours. 

“You solids and your obsession with fornication,” the raspy voice of the Founder Women echoes through the room. Damar swerves to meet her eyes, a reaction even faster than the Vorta’s.

“Founder, I didn’t hear you come in,” Damar says, stiffening with displeasure. He hates this woman, if you could call her that, this hideous God of Weyoun’s made up of fake parts and coy words. 

“You never do unless I am in the company of the Jem’Hadar,” she responds curtly, turning to Weyoun who is giving her a sudden, theatrical bow.

Damar rolls his eyes, away from both of them.

“Do you need assistance when it comes to your recreational time, Legate? Or do you merely complain as a pastime?” The Founder glances at the empty bottle of kanar resting underneath his station’s pedestal, “Or is it merely the side effect of a solid’s shortsighted addiction?” 

The Founder Women is particularly unpleasant today, and Damar can’t help but swallow every bad word begging to be spat at her contorted, guileless face.

“I merely miss the times when we’d be able to stop at a Cardassian colony, not far from our outpost. There used to be several dozen, now we’d be lucky to run into a Cardassian freight ship,” Damar explains bitterly, watching the Founder Women roll her head on her shoulders in thought. 

He expects her to speak about the necessities of Cardassian death. How they aren’t pulling their weight in the ways she expected them to; how they deserve to die, even at her hand.

Damar nearly stumbles over his own feet when she responds; 

“When relations between my people and solids become strained, in the past the Vorta have been quite assistive when it comes to copulation and physical pleasure.” The Founder casually glances at Weyoun. Damar looks back at him too, but can’t discern his expression. “If your needs are lowering your performance in the war efforts, you are free to make use of any one of them.” 

Damar can’t believe what he’s hearing. Not only is the Founder Woman offering up members of her troops for  _ sex,  _ but she’s implying he can screw any Vorta available is he so pleases. The only Vorta available on this ship for the past few months has been Weyoun. 

“And you have absolutely nothing to say about this?” Damar asks Weyoun, dumbfounded and genuinely a bit mortified. As a Cardassian, he holds high regards for family and personal intimacy. Though he himself sleeps around, he has at least always maintained a consistency with his sex life. 

“The Founder is wise in all things,” Weyoun responds, head inclining towards the changeling he worships. It is then that Damar realizes that Weyoun is certifiably psychotic. Would he really give up his body because the Founder says so?

“My performance is just fine,” Damar insists, desperate for a change of subject. “I’m not lacking, despite what you think about the weakness of solids.” 

“Perhaps then, it is just a Cardassian folly,” she replies coldly.

The Founder Woman gestures for Weyoun so she can speak to him in the hall. He follows willingly, strutting after her like a loyal servant. Damar wonders when the Vorta went so wrong. 

The Legate thinks that’s the end of that. Just an exceptionally odd day at work. The Founder Woman has always been strange, whether in her plans against the Federation or overall views about the universe and their race’s position as Gods.

That very night, Damar allows relief to wash over him as he navigates the short halls of the attack ship, and is finally able to retreat into his quarters. He keeps the lights off as he undresses, and he deliberates at the replicator before making himself another glass of kanar. 

It helps him sleep; that is the excuse he gives himself. 

He’s halfway through his drink and a poetry collection his son wrote years back when the door chimes. He sets his drink down, and mumbles, “Enter.”

It is Weyoun, and who else  _ would  _ it be? 

“Listen, I worked overtime today,” Damar tells him, setting his tablet down. He slides down into his bed, wrestles with the covers to show him he has no intention of going back to the bridge. “Whatever it is, it can wait.”

The door swooshes closed and they are cast into pitch darkness. 

“Hold on.” Damar moves to sit up. “Computer, lights to ten percent.” 

The lights turn on, dim as ever, but it is clear enough that Damar can see Weyoun has gotten closer. Much closer. Crawling over the bed and on top of him, close.

Damar shimmies backward, wondering frantically where he left his phaser. 

“Weyoun, what ⎯ ?” Damar lets out a shocked grunt when Weyoun drops down onto him, straddling him and begins removing his own tunic, tearing it off his body like it offends him. “Hey, stop, what is going on?!”   


“You wish to be pleasured,” Weyoun insists. “Allow me.” 

“Excuse me?” Damar tenses when Weyoun dips down to stroke his ear up his neck. He tenses further when he finds his face inches from the face of a man he’s hated for months. 

“Your pulse has sped up, as has your breathing.”

“It’s called fight or flight. Human psychologists invented that theory centuries ago,” he rambles. Damar shoves Weyoun off his lap and the Vorta lands easily on the back end of the bed, staring dark-eyed at Damar. Eyes trained on him like he’s a meal; it’s unnerving, even if Damar admits his touch on some level had been satisfying and pleasant. 

He really needs to get laid. 

“Why are you doing this?” he asks. 

Weyoun’s head moves like a felines, trying to suss out Damar’s reluctance. 

“The Founder wishes for me to relieve you,” he says, voice richer than normal. It isn’t the usual sneer Damar is used to during work hours, nor even the antsy agitation he hears when he makes a joke at Weyoun’s expense. 

Damar sighs, itching to turn the lights on to a higher level.

“Weyoun, it was a suggestion. And I didn’t exactly agree to it, if you recall.”

“Not on the bridge,” Weyoun says and Damar stills. “When she pulled me aside, she told me you needed to be relieved of your tension, and that I was the only one capable of doing so.” 

A nervous chuckle rattles out of Damar and he backs up against the headboard despite Weyoun remaining in the same, unmoving position. 

“You don’t have to Weyoun. I know you don’t want to. You’re not just some guinea pig the Founders can toss around, or at least you don’t have to be.”  _ But, I guess you can never realize that.  _

Weyoun starts moving again, and if Damar were a better man he would move  _ away.  _

“But, I do want to. I want you, Damar,” Weyoun murmurs, leaning down and nuzzling against Damar’s bare chest. It feels good against the scales that outline his abdomen and pecs. He’s always the most sensitive there. “The Founders are wise in all things, after all.” 

“They’re treating your race like whores, not just with sex Weyoun, but with your entire life. Milking you dry of anything that could make you independent.”

Weyoun is balancing the tightrope of descending into a bitter rage at Damar’s admonishment of the Founders and needing to keep a sultry, wanton face on to simultaneously  _ please  _ the Founders. 

“You haven’t kicked me out,” Weyoun notes after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. He leans up to meet Damar’s eyes and the Legate can’t disagree.

“You’ve caught me in a drunken stupor,” Damar admits, breathlessly, as Weyoun trails his fingers down his exposed flanks. “Asking a Cardassian to resist something as base as sex is like asking a Vorta to stop worshipping the Founders.” 

“Impossible then,” Weyoun whispers, lips brushing Damar’s, but Damar grabs him by his forearms and pushes him on his back, caging him beneath his body. 

“What do you get out of it, other than pleasing the Founders? Are you that slavish that this is nothing more than some pious means to an end? Or is it maybe a relief you finally have an excuse to indulge in life the way I do? Doesn’t it tire you, daily acting the moral zealot?” 

Weyoun looks puzzled and he pushes against Damar’s hold only to find it unyielding. He doesn’t try to push against him again after that, the perfect definition of a submissive. 

Damar realizes perhaps he doesn’t need to snap his neck; he can settle for fucking Weyoun. 

The moral implications of sleeping with someone who may or may not be entirely willing crosses his mind, but like the first time he committed infidelity, he allows it to slide off his back and takes up the offer practically fed to him on a silver spoon. 

“You’ve done this before?” Damar asks, trailing his calloused hands over Weyoun’s creamy white skin. The Vorta’s soft belly twitches beneath his fingertips. He’s smoother than butter, not a hair on his body other than his head and brows. 

“No. Some Vorta have, for other solids. Years back, as the Founder mentioned.”

“But, not you.”

“Not me.” 

Damar smirks, groping at Weyoun’s hips as if to check the validity of a product. Weyoun glares at the expression of pure mirth on the Legate’s face and he breathes in sharply through his nose. 

“The Vorta do not share the same romanticism about sex nearly every other solid appears to. We do not mind being used if it is required of us. You cannot begin to understand our ways.” 

“Oh, no I understand. You don’t play unless mommy says it’s okay.” 

Damar delights in the irritation flickering in Weyoun’s eyes, and he lets his hands travel down to the front of his uniform slacks. Narrowing his eyes, he rubs a palm over the bulge there. 

Weyoun jumps, blinking up at him with those doe-like blue eyes. 

Damar observes how the Vorta are like humans when it comes to genitalia. It must be aggravating lugging around a cock on the outside of one’s body. But, there is also a certain excitement to being able to play with a flaccid one, urging it to rise to the occasion. 

Weyoun lies still, blinking rapidly as Damar toys with him through his pants. 

“What are you doing?” he deadpans, though his hips nudge forward. 

“You want to have sex don’t you?” Damar asks.

“I ⎯ ” Weyoun squirms, giving a little pout when Damar doesn’t stop. “I am to service you.” 

“You’re servicing me now,” Damar debates and Weyoun makes a questioning sound when he slides the Vorta’s trousers the rest of the way off. He has curves like a woman, and he’s smooth like one. Damar is never so fickle when it comes to sexuality, but he usually prefers females.

Damar leans down and curls a fist around Weyoun’s still-flaccid cock. Weyoun’s eyes flutter and the color in them blooms when he gradually begins to stroke him. 

“You ⎯ ” Weyoun huffs when Damar strokes over the slit at the top and tugs down. “My enjoyment is irrelevant unless the Founder says otherwise. You will cease.” 

“What if my enjoyment depends on your enjoyment?” 

“You expect me to believe that, Cardassian?” 

“You can believe whatever you want to believe,” Damar snarks, flipping him over on his stomach and admiring the pale swells of his ass. So pristine, like a porcelain doll. “You do that anyway, don’t you? But hey, if you want to pretend you’re not getting anything out of this, that works just as well for me.” 

Damar spread his cheeks apart and Weyoun’s back bows with the movement. He swipes a thumb over his hole and watches it flutter and open to swallow the tip of it in. Strange, he’s never been with such a responsive species. He usually has to put in some effort to get another male to open up.

It’s been a long time since he’s had sex with a male though, an even longer time since he hadn’t been on the receiving end. 

Damar unfastens his night slacks, and coaxes his erection to unsheath itself. 

“Hey, should I replicate some ⎯ ”

“The Vorta are a self-lubricating species.” The words rush out of Weyoun’s mouth and Damar huffs, swiping his thumb in the same manner to find him wet. When he dips two fingers into Weyoun, he takes them easily and without so much as a caught breath. 

His rim is a light purple, relaxed even as it takes in Damar’s relatively large digits. 

“Were you always perfect little sex toys, or was that something your Gods installed in you after they brainwashed your species?”

Weyoun snarls, turning back to bark out something wrathful, but Damar’s cock has nearly completely unfurled from his body so he slides in, fast and slick until he bottoms out. 

He always likes to put it in before he’s completely unsheathed. He likes the feeling of his erection growing larger in another’s body, and he’s sure most of his partners appreciate the feeling as well. 

Weyoun goes still and grips at the metal frame at the end of the bed. Damar doesn’t wait for him to adjust. He’s not tight, nor is he loose, but he doesn’t feel like he  _ needs  _ time to adjust. It feels like someone designed Weyoun to be the perfect hole for whatever the hell they want to insert. 

When Damar gathers way, and Weyoun starts gasping out faint, little noises, that’s when the pleasure begins to climb. 

It’s been so long since he’s had anyone. He can picture the last time he held a Cardassian female’s breasts in his hands, but this, this is almost better. It doesn’t escape him that half of his pleasure is coming purely out of the fact that Weyoun is only here because the Founder assumed it may or may not improve Damar’s work performance. 

Damar grabs Weyoun by his hip bones, and the man is so soft and warm to the touch he feels as if his fingers will sink into him, like dough. 

“You tell me, Vorta.” Damar’s teeth are gritted as he speaks. “Is it possible to service me and not get one single shred of enjoyment out of it?” 

Weyoun’s head ducks, and Damar can see his tight-knuckled grip on the bed frame. 

“I am unaffected,” Weyoun responds in a way that sounds like he practiced the words. Damar can’t help but grin wickedly. 

“I’m sure that’s the case,” he murmurs, raising one knee up parallel to Weyoun’s hips as he bends closer, and buries himself deeper in the Vorta’s body. Weyoun tenses all over and shudders, shaking like an Earth canine. Damar fucks him harder, just to watch his trembling grow out of control. “Did you think I’d want to fuck you? Or were you hoping I’d just settle for your mouth and be done with it?” 

For the first time, Weyoun clenches around him and his breath stutters. 

He grunts as he hauls Weyoun up by his throat and presses his back to his chest. Weyoun is practically sitting in his lap now as Damar fucks into him, gripping him by the hair to keep him up. 

Weyoun attempts to turn his head away from Damar, but Damar tightens his fingers in his black curls. He coils his other arm around his waist and takes his thin cock in hand again. Unlike most species, there are no ridges or special marks; The Vorta are merely smooth here, just as they are in every place. Damar has to wonder if that was a decision made by the Founders as well. 

Weyoun is half hard, an achievement in and of itself. Damar finds that stroking him doesn’t cause much of a reaction, but squeezing the base of his cock does. He squirms, thrusts back minutely when he tightens his fist. 

His cock is leaking fluid at the top, translucent, but allowing for an easier slide as Damar fondles him. 

“This doesn’t feel ‘unaffected,’” Damar murmurs along the lengthy ridge of Weyoun’s ear. He swears when he thrusts into him shallowly, his blue eyes glow just a bit wilder than usual.

“Perhaps I am defected,” Weyoun mutters, voice drawling. He’s forgoing the pretense of pretending he doesn’t enjoy this, fully pressing back against Damar’s chest and thighs now, like an Orion slave girl. 

“Because you’re enjoying this?” 

Weyoun doesn’t respond, not until Damar speeds up the strokes on Weyoun’s cock and draws him tight as a bow. Then he nods, letting lose a gentle whine from the back of his throat. 

“Should have taken away your pleasure receptors along with all those taste buds,” Damar jokes, letting go of his hair to grab him by his ribcage. He’s so slim, and docile. And Damar is growing so close to his own release, the wetter the Vorta grows around him. 

He wasn’t lying about the self-lubrication. It’s dripping onto the bed, coating Damar’s hips with sweet-smelling slickness. God, he’d like to taste it. 

Damar lifts Weyoun off his cock and throws him backside onto the bed sheets, sliding back in with no effort. Weyoun’s gasp turns into a moan as he starts hammering him again with punishing thrusts, the intention of chasing his own pleasure now. The Vorta’s fingers find his shoulders, and grip tight when Damar comes hard, spurting his release inside of him. 

It’s been a while, a long while, so he fills him up entirely, and feels only a miniscule shred of guilt when it spills out of his body and onto the sheets, a trail of translucent blue liquid pooling under the Vorta’s hips. 

Damar only hesitates for a moment before pulling out, and he  _ does _ mean to get Weyoun off but he halts when he sees the Vorta twitching, writhing. His eyes are glowing brightly, illuminating in the dim light of the quarters, and he moans, sounding confused at what he’s experiencing. 

Damar tilts his head, and watches him shudder and whimper through the last of his own orgasm, as it appears. There wasn’t a discharge, perhaps to avoid mess. He runs a hand down Weyoun’s quivering stomach and raises a brow. 

“Was it that good?” 

Weyoun huffs, cheeks flushed with the barest plum-colored tint. 

“The Vorta experience orgasm at the same time the other party does. Your orgasm instigated my own,” he explains, sitting up and breathing heavy. The expression on his face is cut off, and he’s already looking for his clothes. 

“Well, that’s…convenient,” Damar responds tartly and hands him his tunic from off the floor. He looks for his own trousers, unwilling to be the only one undressed. 

Weyoun is about to stand, but Damar gestures for him to wait, finding a towel in one of his dressers. He hands it to him and Weyoun snatches it up, wiping away the whitish blue fluid continuing to leak out of him.

“You can use my shower,” Damart tries but Weyoun chuckles cruelly.

“I’d rather use my own.” 

When Weyoun is relatively dry and fully dressed, Damar watches him hesitate before strolling to the door leading back into the hall. Damar swallows, clears his throat, and says what’s been weighing on my mind. 

“This was a mistake, Weyoun. I don’t care if the Founder tells you to come back here again, but I don’t think we should do this again.” 

“As long as your performance at work is satisfactory, we won’t have to worry about this happening again,” Weyoun replies coolly, but his hair is out of place, and his body is a bit slack and loose. Nothing about him is recognizable as the regular, intimidating persona he normally projects into the world.

“Weyoun ⎯ ”

“Are you no longer under stress?”

Damar nods, unsure of what else to say. 

“Then I’ve been useful.” 

Weyoun presses the button on the wall for the door to open, and he walks out into the hall, vanishing for the rest of the night. Damar worries about what morning will be like. 

It will definitely feel like a dream. Weyoun will pretend nothing happened. 

He can live with avoiding the reality of what just occurred, but he’s not sure it sits quite well knowing the Founder can so easily order Weyoun into his room in the middle of the night to ‘please’ him like he’s some stress outlet. Like all Damar needs a good fuck, not caring whose hole he uses to get it. The truth of that perception may be what truly frightens him.

Even with what he told Weyoun, he doesn’t know if he can refuse the next time.    


**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to my best friend gus! of course (:   
> the adventures of weyoun discovering how fun sex is  
> also for those of you wondering if you're here, i will finish my hannibal fics soon. i haven't given up. i just needed a star trek break.  
> toodaloo! xoxo


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